Addictions
by Lucy Hale
Summary: Part two of the Loyalties Series. Darien and Bobby take a case that threatens them both.


"Can you believe that?" Hobbes snorted. "Catch a deranged serial killer and what do we get? Bupkes."

Darien's expression didn't change. "You really think he was a deranged serial killer."

"Course he was," Hobbes replied immediately. 

"Lucky you," Darien said quietly. And he meant it. Darien had never been much for psychics or fortune-tellers, but this man had known things he couldn't possibly have. It scared him. He wished he had the ability to dismiss it so easily. 

He realized suddenly that he and Hobbes were alone in the office, and he turned to his shorter partner awkwardly. "Hey. Sorry about trying to kill you, huh?" The apology was overly casual, but Darien knew Hobbes could make him eat those words so easily. 

After everything his partner had gone through for him, it was their first case back together after Hobbes' disappearance, and the entire time Darien had been dreaming about and/or attempting to actually kill the man. Darien regretted it. To the point where in those minutes he was actually worried he would do it, kill Hobbes, he was prepared to shoot himself instead. Before the Quicksilver rage took over and he ended up attacking his partner anyway. 

There were a lot of things about the last few days that he regretted, and if Hobbes wanted to make his life hell over it, well, there was his opening.

But Hobbes just gave a derisive little noise. "Come on. You didn't even come close. Takes a lot more than that to take down Bobby Hobbes, my friend."

Darien laughed quietly. "Lucky me, right?" He didn't deserve that, but he would take it for what it was -- forgiveness. Both of them realized that their newly strengthened partnership was too valuable to let this mindless rage destroy. 

He reached out and laid a hand on Hobbes' arm, no longer than a second, then started out of the office.

There was just too much going on there, too much for him, either of them, to deal with at once. 

It was, on the bright side, a successful mission. Everyone had made like the weeks before, with Hobbes' disappearance, had never happened, and that was fine with Darien. The Boss, of course, couldn't contain his surprise when Darien had burst in to the office saying he couldn't work with Hobbes anymore. 

Darien shuddered when he remembered that. First, the dreams. The few hours he managed to sleep at night were filled with images of his hands locked around his partner's throat. The Keeper refused him his Counteragent, but of course she was probably right to do so. And on top of everything he had ended up having a showdown with the Boss and he had lost miserably. 

Dealing with his new, already-once-again threatened relationship with Hobbes, the Boss's hold over him, this gland at it's dark rage taking him over little by little, and some lunatic old man and his prophecies…it was a lot for Mama Fawkes's little boy to handle.

He needed a couple of days to himself, to sort it all out. 

"Hey, hotshot?"

He turned around and saw Hobbes on his tail. He swallowed the feelings that the other man brought out in him -- the fear and panic of losing control, the guilt over what he had almost done -- and smiled inanely. "Yeah?"

"You want to grab some coffee? There's a little doughnut spot open a couple of blocks away." Hobbes grinned.

Darien shuddered. "Bobby, let me tell you something. If I never see you with another doughnut in your hand, it'll still be about five times too many."

Hobbes shrugged and moved past him. "Your call. Someday explain that whole doughnut thing to me, huh?"

"Maybe."

Hobbes shot back a raised-eyebrow look, but kept moving, through the doors and outside without forcing Darien to explain any more than he wanted to.

Darien smiled faintly at his retreating back. As big a jerk as he acted like sometimes, Hobbes was pretty perceptive about a lot of things. Hell, if he hadn't seen a sewing needle in the smoldering husk of a burned-down house, they probably would have let a murderer get away without ever clueing on to her.

He took a minute, as he walked out into the sunshine, to think about his partner. Hobbes seemed different to him now than when they had first met. Maybe because they had gone through a few things together, maybe because they had actually been roommates for a few days. 

Hobbes was back at his place now, had been for over a week, which was longer than he had stayed. But Darien felt himself kind of missing him. His empty apartment felt empty again.

And Hobbes didn't feel like as much of a stranger. Really, if Darien let himself think about it, the guy was pretty amazing. After everything he had been put through at the hands of FBI agents trying to get their hands on Darien, he had still managed to escape and show up in time to save Darien from an attack by snipers. Hobbes bit of petty bragging earlier was truer than maybe Hobbes even realized -- it _did_ take more than what Darien had done to take him down. 

__

Lucky me.

He had gone to hell and back the last month, and hadn't let himself be affected by it.

Well, not much. He had changed slightly, in some small ways. He had every reason to resent Darien, but he seemed to be warming to him even more. Even the Boss had commented that the two of them seemed to be getting along better lately. And as much as the last few weeks had been a complete upheaval in Hobbes' life, and his belief system, he made no signs that his loyalties had shifted at all. Aside from being unable to voice any of his usual patriotic rants, he had given no sign to the Boss that anything had been changed by the Agency almost abandoning him.

That was something else for Darien to feel like shit about. Hobbes had been so close to leaving the city, to vanishing for good. He had lost that strangely idealistic loyalty towards service to his country, and he didn't think he had a reason to stay. So Darien had, calmly as anything, told him to stay because of him. Because they were partners, and he needed him.

And he tried to fucking kill him.

What a great way to cement the deal.

****

Bobby Hobbes jerked bolt upright, breathing in a rush of air, his heart jumping inside his ribcage. 

A moment later he realized what had woken him up. The phone rang again two more times before he cleared his fuzzy brain enough to answer it. "Yeah?"

"Uh. Sorry. It's late, huh?"

"Darien?" He leaned back against his headboard, a hand rubbing his eyes as he spoke through a yawn. "Something wrong?"

"No. Not really."

"Don't tell me you're having more dreams about killing me." Hobbes kept his voice light, easy when he was only half-awake.

"Nothing like that." Darien didn't sound like he had been sleeping at all. He sounded pinched a little, to Bobby's ears.

"So what's up? It's late, why aren't you out of it? You need your rest, sport."

"I was…" Darien hesitated, then blew out a sigh Hobbes could hear easily through the phone. "I was kinda worried."

"Worried?" Hobbes blinked out at the dark room, then a second later his eyes widened. "About me?"

"Yeah. Your…uh. Your hand. You feeling okay?"

Hobbes got the feeling that question was directed at more than just his hand, and it actually brought kind of a funny warm feeling to him. Darien had been awkward about the injuries he had compliments of the FBI, but he had worried and questioned Hobbes every day since he saw them. 

It was strange, the kid being worried about him. But not bad. "I'm good," he answered honestly. "My hand's killing me, but that's what you get when you stab someone's scissors with your skin like that."

Darien laughed faintly, but it sounded strained. "The Keeper give you some pain meds?"

Hobbes laughed genuinely at that. "She's your Keeper, ace. Not mine. I don't even get a calling card, remember?"

"Son of a bitch." Darien's quiet, almost fierce response surprised Bobby. "I hate those bastards."

"What? Hey, don't let it bother you, kid. Just another day in the life, you know?"

"You saved my life! If you hadn't managed to call the Keeper and tell her where I was, I wouldn't have gotten that Counteragent. I'd probably be dead now. You, too."

"Hey. Wasn't your fault they weren't monitoring you close enough. You gave them plenty of warning. You gave me plenty, too, so unpack from the guilt trip. Seventeen million dollars worth of funds in your brain, and they can't take you seriously when you say you need the Counteragent?"

"How did you know that?"

"What? The seventeen million?" Hobbes grinned crookedly. "They briefed me big-time before we met, kid. I had to know exactly what I was being assigned to partner with. Trust me, I know exactly how much you're worth to them."

"Great." 

Hobbes spoke again after a pause. "So you okay now? You convinced I'm not wallowing in pain? Get to sleep. You need it after the last few nights."

"I guess. I just…" Darien heaved another sigh. "I just don't think it's gonna happen. Not tonight."

Hobbes thought about it, then shrugged to himself. He wasn't in a big rush to get back to sleep himself, with the dream he just had. "How about that coffee?"

Darien sounded relieved, but tried to hide it. "No doughnuts."

"Of course not."

****

Darien was on his third omelet when Hobbes finally decided to comment. "You haven't been eating either?"

The younger man looked up, his mouth full, his cheeks puffed out as he chewed quickly. A sheepish grin lit his face as he swallowed. "Actually, I have. I'm just kinda hungry."

"You always eat like this?"

Darien shrugged, shoveling in another forkful of pancakes.

Hobbes sat back, shaking his head. "So you gonna tell me what's wrong? Or is it more of this self-induced guilt bullshit?"

Darien washed his food down with a quick drink and wiped his mouth unceremoniously on his jacket sleeve. Surprisingly, he didn't bother disguising the fact that he really was bothered. "I went to see Tiresias when I left the Agency today."

"Who?" Hobbes' eyebrows flew up.

"Oh. Scarborough. Tiresias. I know that's not his name, but…it seemed fitting."

Hobbes thought about it then chuckled. "Actually, I guess it does. If you choose to believe that the guy really has some kind of ability."

Darien nodded, then stopped, eyeing Hobbes suddenly. "You don't strike me as the kind of guy…" He trailed off, flushing slightly. 

Hobbes laughed. "What? I'm too much of a bonehead to get the reference? I went to school same as you. Tiresias -- blind fortuneseer, prophesied the fall of Oedipus and Creon." 

Darien grinned. "Very good. You're a surprising guy, Bobby."

Hobbes hesitated, a little surprised. "Same to you, Darien. You read Sophocles in one of the classes you didn't skip?"

The younger man cleared his throat dramatically. "'Oh, what anguish to be wise where wisdom is a loss.'"

Hobbes smirked. "Not a problem you have all that often, I'm willing to bet." His grin faded suddenly. 

Darien didn't notice, his own smile disappearing at the same time. "So yeah, I went to see him."

"Who? Oh, your prophet. Yeah?"

"Told him he was wrong."

"Good for you." Hobbes kept his voice calm, seeing from Darien's frown that this wasn't a good thing.

Darien smiled tightly. "Know what he said? When I said I didn't kill you?"

Hobbes thought about it, easily drawing an answer from what he knew of the old lunatic. "Not yet?" he suggested dryly.

Darien nodded. 

"Figures. Don't worry about it, kid. They always say shit like that. If something doesn't happen like they say it will, they make up some reason, or leave some vague hint about the future. He just did it to get under your skin."

"Maybe." Darien met his eyes seriously. "But what if he's right?"

Hobbes fought the urge to automatically respond, and made himself think about it for a minute. What if, in some nuts way, this guy actually knew that Darien would kill him or get him killed someday? What if it was a certainty that he was going to die at this job?

Fortunately he didn't have to think for too long. "What if he is? Big deal."

Darien shook his head. "Bobby, you can't just--"

"Sure I can. Look, all my life I've been fired up to die in some blaze of glory. If it happens, it happens. If you end up going nuts and ripping my throat out, I'll die. You'll kill yourself feeling guilty about it. Que sera, right?"

"It's not that easy."

"Oh, for Christ's sake. What do you want to do about it?"

Darien frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…there's not a lot you can do to change things. You can't get that gland out of your brain. You want me to leave? You want your other partner back?"

Darien looked shocked. "No. But--"

"Okay then. You do your best not to flip out and kill me, and I'll do my best not to die. That's all we can do, so there's no point in worrying about it."

"But…" Darien thought about it, frowning. After a long moment he let a small, ironic smile tilt across his face. "Jesus, Bobby. We're screwed."

Hobbes nodded, his expression going dark. "Reminds me of something else Tiresias said."

"What?" Darien's face clouded at the name.

"'You led a child of light into the dark…Dismissed, unmourned, denied a grave, a corpse unhallowed and defeated of his destiny below.'"

Darien relaxed when he realized Hobbes wasn't talking about the old man now sitting in prison. He gazed at his partner. "That's how you see yourself, huh?" It fit. Dismissed, unmourned. It's what pissed Darien off so badly when Hobbes had gone missing.

But Hobbes just shook his head. "Not me I'm thinking about, kid."

Darien met his eyes in surprise. "Jesus, Bobby."

"What?

"What the hell are you doing? You're not supposed to say things like that. You're not supposed to like me at all, remember? I'm just some con-job with a gland in my head. You're the one they keep shitting all over."

"Nah, there's a big difference between us, Darien. I asked to be brought in. You didn't. That in itself makes a lot more difference than the Boss would ever admit. You're the one with that thing inside you, making you snap over and over again."

Darien studied him long enough to realize that he was completely serious. His thought suddenly went back to the conversation he'd had with his Keeper before he left her that day. He had stated his wishes and left without giving her a chance to argue, but he knew she would never do what he wanted.

Maybe Hobbes would. 

"Could you promise me something?"

Hobbes blinked across the table at him. "Sure."

"When I snap again, if I ever put my hands around someone's throat that way again…" He didn't miss Hobbes' uncontrollable shudder. "Don't let them give me the counteragent."

"What?" 

"Don't let her anywhere near me. Just…look, if I lose it again, just finish me off."

Hobbes laughed. "You're…" His smile faded. "You're serious."

Darien nodded firmly. "You don't know what it's like. I can see myself doing these things, and part of me…part of Darien is still there, you know? Kinda watching it all happen and realizing what I'm doing, but the rest of me is this bloodthirsty thing I just can't control. Do you know what it feels like to tell your body to do something and be ignored? To watch yourself choking the life out of someone and not be able to stop it? And not only that…but a part of you is actually enjoying doing it. It's insane, Bobby. It's eating away at me. I can't be that creature anymore. It's dark and evil, and it isn't me, and I don't want this Hyde inside me. Next time he shows his face, I want him dead."

Hobbes listened to him closely, but shook his head. "Darien, I can't just--"

"Bullshit! You can! You know how close I came to killing you. I can't do that again! I can't deal with this fucking guilt already. Next time I may kill someone. It's not worth it. Not to me. I asked my Keeper, but there's no way she'd ever respect my wishes." His voice grew quieter and his gaze went to the half-full plate in front of him. "My life isn't my own. I know that, and the Boss drilled it in very clearly over the last couple of days. I have no choice in what I do anymore. I want control over that one thing. I want to know that if I want it to happen, it will. I should at least have that much."

Hobbes' eyes glittered with some strange emotion as he took that in. "You really want me to make that promise, kid?"

Darien nodded solemnly. "Please."

Bobby's eyes moved away from his, staring off into space for a few long moments. Darien stayed quiet, letting him think it through. 

He let out a breath, and moved his gaze finally back to his partner. "All right."

Darien relaxed at that, the tension immediately draining out of his face and body. He smiled. "Thanks, Bobby. You've got no idea--"

"But that's it."

Darien paused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Hobbes met his eyes, slowly standing and backing out of the booth. "Don't you ever ask me to do anything else for you, you son of a bitch. Even if it never happens."

Darien frowned, standing quickly. "Wait a minute. What's--"

"Forget it. You said what you had to say. I said yes. Be happy. I'm going home." Hobbes moved fast, leaving the booth and heading for the door.

Darien made to go after him, but their waitress moved in front of him, waving the bill with no subtlety at all.

Darien grabbed the small square of paper, his eyes on Hobbes as he moved out the door and out of sight.

He frowned darkly, going back to the table to drop some money. He knew he'd just done something really wrong, something that maybe had strained their partnership even more over the fragile line they were walking.

But he couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

****

He woke up panting. The sheets beneath him were soaked with sweat, and he was twisted around in the covers.

__

Again. That was the first thing he thought. _Not again, Christ._

He fought for breath, and sat up quickly.

Immediately his head began swimming, and his stomach clenched. His eyes slammed shut as he fought for control.

A shaking hand immediately went to the table beside his bed and grabbed the large glass of room temperature water he always kept sitting there, just in case of such emergencies. He picked it up, but the tremors shaking his hand got worse suddenly, and half the liquid spilled out onto the sheets, adding to the dampness. 

He squeezed the glass tighter, finally getting it to his mouth and swallowing what was left in there.

It wasn't enough. Dammit.

He moved slowly, bringing his feet to the floor and standing carefully.

Dizziness immediately overtook him. Vertigo made the familiar interior around him swirl and twist, but he moved anyway. One foot carefully went in front of the other, searching for the ground and then settling uncertainly, as though the flat floor was going to turn into a rockslide or an uneven slope. 

These dreams were killing him. No. No, it wasn't just the dreams. Just dreams weren't enough to kill anyone. He knew that, even the last few days, but it didn't help these nighttime attacks.

But Christ, they were coming close. The last few weeks were all crashing down on him. 

Hobbes found his way to the small kitchen and moved to the sink, grabbing the first cup he could see and turning on the faucet. 

It wasn't just the dreams. It was the daytime, too. The energy he expelled trying to keep up with Darien, the stress of dealing with the Boss, the worry about what Darien had been going through.

He hadn't told Darien, and he wouldn't, but he of all people understood how much dreams could scare the shit out of a person. He had them a lot. It was just a symptom, the shrink the Agency had sent him to told him. Just another of those manic psychotic things that got him hooked on lithium. 

He swallowed glassfuls of water, forcing himself not to think until his world had stopped spinning and his stomach wasn't threatening to roll over on him. 

Damned medicine. Oh, yeah, it was a punchline to everyone else. Good ole Lithium Bob, hooked on pills to control his ravings.

But it made his life hell. Especially at night. The dreams made him sweat, the sweat made him dehydrate, the drug inside of him started poisoning his system. 

Darien would never agree with the comparison, and Bobby knew it wasn't completely accurate, but it was almost like he had some little gland of his own inside of him. Except this wasn't a gland he couldn't get rid of -- this was just something he had to keep pumping in to his system if he wanted to stay with the Agency, watching Darien's back as he'd promised.

Still, it was inside of him, it pumped toxins into his system that he couldn't control, and he could never quite forget it was there. He couldn't go chasing after killers or criminals without worrying that if he didn't get some water pretty quick, he'd start in with the dizzy spells. He'd puke, which would make it worse, and eventually he'd end up going to see the docs. 

It wasn't easy being Lithium Bob. A whole lot of people in the world had it a whole lot worse, he knew. But it was easy to forget that at times like this. 

Those fucking dreams. If he could just get rid of those, he would be all right. 

The last few nights they had been simple and understandable. He'd be back there, on the ground, with an insane creature that looked like Darien Fawkes on top of him, choking his life away without the slightest hint of remorse. 

Tonight it changed. But he wasn't grateful, not at all, and he sent a silent curse to Darien for putting the new images in his head.

This time it was Darien on the ground, his eyes red and wild, surging and fighting and clawing for freedom. While Bobby was on top of him, choking his life away thanks to the promise he had made tonight.

"Jesus, Christ," he said out loud, quietly. Under control a little more, he set the cup down on the counter and turned off the water. 

Fuck Darien. What the hell was that bastard thinking? So he didn't want to end up going nuts and killing someone. He didn't want that guilt. Great. Maybe he figured Bobby wouldn't mind taking that guilt for him.

Only for Bobby it would be worse. It wasn't like he would have an excuse like Quicksilver rage if he actually obeyed Darien's request and killed him when he got out of control. No, he would be perfectly in his right mind, and have nothing to blame but himself. How could he make a promise to shoot Darien with a fucking gun when a shot from a needle would do just as much good at stopping that rage?

How could Darien ask him to do that? How could he move all that guilt off his own shoulders and right onto Bobby's like that?

How could he ask Bobby to help destroy the only thing in the fucking city worth hanging around for? Jesus, the kid knew Bobby was staying around just for him. He knew there was nowhere else for Bobby to go, and no one else for him to trust.

And he used that. The son of a bitch used that to ring a promise out of him.

Hobbes swallowed, taking slow and careful stock of his situation. 

Everything seemed almost back to normal, so he pushed away from the kitchen counter and started shuffling back to his room. He wouldn't go back to sleep now, but that was fine. He'd have to wash the sheets, take a shower to get the sweat off of him. Maybe when he got out it would be time for breakfast. And he'd pop another of his wonderful pills, then leave and get his ass to the Agency, where he would have to face Darien and the Boss for another day in the life.

****

"You look like shit." 

Darien returned Hobbes' stare with the glare that was expected of him. "So do you, asshole."

Hobbes just smirked, turning back to the Boss.

Darien moved all the way into the room and over to the desk, careful not to stand too close to Hobbes. Whatever happened last night, they'd have to hash it out. Until then, though, it wouldn't pay to get any more on Hobbes' bad side.

Besides, he really did look bad. He looked like Darien felt.

"--to put you two on the case."

"Sounds good to me, sir. You mind telling me why exactly we're stepping on the FBI's toes on this one?"

The Boss was glaring at Hobbes, and Darien was too relieved to see that glare directed at someone other than him to interrupt and ask what was going on. 

"A friend of mine with the Bureau gave me a call. He says there are growing files on a couple of my agents. I didn't like hearing that."

"You mean us?" Darien glanced over at Hobbes.

"Yes, you," the Boss snapped back. His eyes stayed on Hobbes. "You mind telling me exactly what it is they're so interested in learning about you?"

Hobbes shrugged. "They know about Fawkes. They know I'm his partner."

Darien shot him another sideward gaze. So Hobbes didn't tell the Boss who it was who had grabbed him that week? That was strange. If the FBI was going to be a threat to this project, the Boss should know about it. Right?

Hobbes sent him a dark look, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut.

"Just great. At least there's a possible happy ending to this. My friend with the Bureau says these files are being built up by a small department, without much approval from the big guys, who think anything about an invisible man is a joke. The men building up the files are also the ones who want to hunt down these men." He nodded down at a few photos on his desk, and Darien grabbed them obediently. 

Hobbes let him take them, which meant he must have already seen them. "So we catch these guys first, and make a deal to hand them over if they lose the files on us."

"Exactly. I want to put an end to this, gentlemen, so don't fail on this one."

****

"The ugly son of a bitch on top there is Sergei Petrov."

Darien interrupted before Hobbes could get started. "Russian? Don't tell me we're after some Russian spies or something."

"No. Russian murderers. This guy is on the Fed's ten most wanted. Has been for about six years now. He's a real embarrassment to them. He got to the US maybe ten years ago, started working with the Russian community in New York City. Built up a rep as the gun to hire if you want someone to suffer. He's a sadistic son of a bitch."

"So why are we going after him?"

"Exactly why that fat asshole behind the desk back there said. We have to get the Feds off your trail. We get Petrov and his little band of merry men, we can exchange them for any files they have on us. Petrov is a big fish; he may have just enough pull to get those files back for us."

"So how do we find him? Are we going to New York?"

"Nope. I'm going to New York."

Darien stopped in the middle of the parking lot. "What? Alone?"

"Don't look so shocked. I did manage to survive as a fully functional agent all by my little self before you came around."

Darien ignored the sarcasm. "We're partners. Why would they send you alone?"

"Because, kid. You're a glorified thief, I'm a glorified cop. We need cop work here."

"But--"

"Just forget it. You don't need to go anywhere. You can work the case from here."

"I can?" Darien crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What exactly can I do from here?"

"Communication," Hobbes answered with a shrug, starting towards the car again. 

"Wait just a damned minute. Who the fuck are you to say I won't be any use in New York? What if you need to get in somewhere without being seen? You don't exactly make yourself inconspicuous, Bobby."

Hobbes seemed to bristle at the sound of his first name. "I'll manage, Fawkes."

"No, you won't. There's no reason for you to play this alone."

"Since when are you so eager to get in on a job like this?"

Darien glared. "Since we both established the fact that we're not very willing to be here, _Bobby_. You stuck around here because of me, because I asked you to. I'm not about to let you stick your neck out without me there to watch your back."

"That's commendable," Hobbes replied with a smirk.

"God dammit, what the hell is wrong with you? You're going to need me."

Hobbes stopped in his tracks, turning to Darien. "Okay, now you listen to me. If I did need you, what would it be for? To go Quicksilver and do some spy work, most likely. I've got news for you, but the Counteragent doesn't travel well, and it doesn't last very long in storage. You go invisible in New York, and we're screwed until you can get back home and get a shot to fight off that side effect. I'm not about to risk it."

"You're going to risk your own life by going alone to protect me against something that may not even happen?" Darien didn't bother hiding his opinion of that idea. 

"You're forgetting which one of us is expendable," Hobbes replied easily. 

"Neither of us!" Darien's voice rose, and he realized that he was genuinely pissed off and worried Hobbes would win this argument and go off by himself. "I don't give a fuck what the Agency says, Hobbes. This is between you and me. Between you and me, neither of us is expendable, you got that?"

"No. It isn't going to work that way, Darien." Hobbes hesitated, then spoke more quietly, meeting his partner's eyes. "I made you a promise, and I'll keep it. But that doesn't mean I have to let it happen anytime soon. The way I see it, if you go to New York without any of that counteragent, and you have to go Quicksilver, I'll have to keep that promise. I'm not gonna do that, not yet. Not if I can prevent it."

"Bobby--"

  
"No. Just listen to me. I don't want to kill you. If I wanted you to die, I never would have come back here after I got away from those Feds. Hell, maybe I just shouldn't have bothered. You have some sort of death wish, and you've dragged me into it. That's great for you, but it doesn't work for me. You. Stay. Here."

Darien didn't answer for a moment, and Hobbes turned and started off again. 

A moment later Darien went after him. He caught him by the car, and moved to put himself in front of the door to block it from opening. "Okay, my turn to talk. You stuck around because of me, but you don't seem to realize that it works both ways."

Hobbes laughed bitterly. "Bull shit. You aren't here because of me. You're here because it's the only way you can get your fix."

Darien shook his head seriously. "Nope. You want to know the truth? I _am_ here because of you." He didn't even have to look to know Hobbes didn't buy that for a minute. "I asked you to kill me, Hobbes."

The older man's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply.

"Like you said, it looks like I have some sort of death wish. The way my life is right now, I have absolutely nothing to look forward to. I'll keep working for the Agency until I get killed doing it or this gland overloads and drives me completely nuts, and they send me to some home, like they do to their other unsuccessful experiments. There's no other options for me, and it just isn't worth it. I'm not in a hurry to die, but I'm not in a hurry to get on with this excuse for a life, either. I think, if there was nothing at all to look forward to, I'd put a bullet in my own brain."

Hobbes flinched minutely, remembering Darien with his gun against his own head, ready to pull the trigger. He had had to act fast to keep him from killing himself.

"But you and me, we're partners. We're friends, most of the time, and I think we could get to be really good ones. That's enough for me, as dumb as it sounds. That's enough to keep me coming back here for more, instead of jumping in front of a bus." Darien met his eyes again. "You get what I'm saying? It works both ways. If I wasn't here, you would have taken off for parts unknown. If you weren't here, I'd probably be dead."

Hobbes stared at him in disbelief. "You're exaggerating," he said finally, more of a guess than a statement.

"Not much. I don't know if I'd have the guts to kill myself, honestly. Maybe I'd build up that Quicksilver madness and attack some cops or something. I'd make someone else kill me. There are ways to do it. I've thought about it."

Hobbes nodded slightly, his eyes reflecting how much that bothered him.

Darien leaned against the car. "So let's settle this once and for all. If you try to go to New York alone, I'll follow you. If I have to go Quicksilver to keep track of you, I will. I'm a lot more likely to go nuts that way than if I did it only when I had to to get this job done."

"You bastard."

Darien nodded. "Maybe. But I'm serious. It's your call."

Hobbes shook his head slowly. "You selfish, stubborn bastard."

"Does that mean I'm going with you?"

****

"My kind of town. Fuck Chicago -- Sinatra didn't know what he was saying. New York City, that's the place to be. This is it. Big time, city life."

"Could you make yourself look a little bit more like a tourist?" 

Darien glanced over at his partner. "Check out Mister Cool. Let's take a cab, huh?"

"No, we're almost there."

"Where are we staying, anyway?" Darien glanced around, but the buildings they were near didn't look like the fleabag pits of hell he imagined the cheap Official would stick them in while they were here. 

Hobbes grinned suddenly and pointed. "Right there."

Darien followed the gesture, then gaped. "You're shitting me."

"Hey, it's the way to stay in style, you know?" Hobbes started across the street without even looking around. 

Darien gaped wider, his eyes on the heavy, swerving traffic barreling around them. Cars unbelievably slowed down for the man as Hobbes crossed, and somehow he made it without a problem. 

Hobbes turned back once he was safe across the street. He gestured expectantly.

Darien took a step off the curb, then moved right back up to the sidewalk. Screw Hobbes, and screw the jokes he knew he would hear. He was waiting for the light.

Five minutes later, he reached his partner's side. "Don't say anything,"

Hobbes blinked innocently. "Whaddaya mean? What was I gonna say? You want to check in?"

Darien turned to the building in front of them. "What I want to do is find out how you talked the Boss into putting us up at the Ritz."

Hobbes dug into his pocket and pulled out a thin wallet. With a flourish he lofted a gold credit card. "For emergencies," he said with a grin.

Darien laughed as he followed his partner into the building. "He must really want us to catch this guy Petrov if he gave you that."

"Yep."

"And what're you going to do when he gets the bill and sees this little charge on there?"

"No problem. I'll tell him about it when we get back. As long as I'm handing him Petrov at the same time, the old bastard can't really say much of anything. He can't exactly fire me."

"You hope."

Hobbes grinned. "Nope, I know. And I have you to thank for that."

"Me?"

"Yeah. They need you. He isn't going to risk losing you, and thanks to what you said when you forced them to give me my job back, he knows you won't work without me. You've given me a little extra job security, Darien. I ought to thank you."

Darien chuckled as he looked around the huge lobby with its vaulted ceilings and ornate decorations. "If I had known it would get us a gold card, I would have done it sooner."

Ten minutes later they were setting foot into their two-bedroom suite. Darien grinned around at the living room that was bigger than his apartment. "I could get used to this." 

"Not bad for a couple of sucker agents," Hobbes agreed, dropping his small, threadbare suitcase on the bed inside the first room. "And as much as I'd like to stick around and enjoy it, we've got to find Petrov before the Feds do, which means we have to get to work."

"Okay, where do we start?"

"Dmitri Holakhov was arrested three days ago by the NYPD. They're holding him for armed assault, and they most likely have no idea who his boss is. We have to get in and shake his tree a little bit, get him to tell us where Petrov is hanging out these days."

****

"Who are you men? The police have asked me the same questions over and over again, and I will give the same answers now."

Hobbes just grinned at Holakhov's glare, shooting a look to Darien. "I ever tell you the rule with immigrants? The thicker the accent, the thinner the temper."

Holakhov's glare only deepened. "I will tell you nothing more. I am not guilty of this crime, and I will be talking to my lawyer later on. I shall tell him about this harassment."

"Oh, tell him anything you want to. See, we're not cops. We're federal." He flipped his badge out briefly, then tucked it back in, sliding into a chair across from Holakhov. "We're also not interested in some petty crime in Central Park."

"What do you want, then?"

"Sergei Petrov."

Holakhov went pale, but his expression didn't change. "Who?"

"Oh, what a clever response." Hobbes crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, the study of casualness. "I've got all day."

"So do I. I'm under arrest."

"Smart ass, huh?"

"Hobbes?"

He barely glanced back at Darien. "You want to stay here a lot longer? Right now the cops don't know the name of the man you work for. I could tell them real easily, and you'll find it tougher to get out of here with that false innocent act of yours, I don't care who your lawyer is."

"You can't hold me, no matter what name you may give the police." Holakhov was defiant, but his eyes reflected his sudden doubt of what he was saying. 

"Hobbes, a word?"

Hobbes looked over at Darien, who gestured for the door. He rolled his eyes but stood. "Back in a minute, Dmitri. Sit tight."

He followed Darien out the door, then turned to him. "What's up?"

"I've got an idea."

"Uh huh?"

"Let me go invisible. You go in there and start questioning him, and I'll psyche him out so bad he'll talk."

"No."

Darien blinked at the instant refusal. "No?"

"No. And when I say that, I don't mean do it as soon as my back is turned anyway. I mean no. I've got a better idea."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Stay here, I'll be out in a minute or two." He opened the door, then glanced back, a warning in his eyes. "Stay here."

"Yeah, yeah."

Hobbes shut the door behind him, and faced Holakhov. This was their only real connection to Petrov. He had to talk, and if Hobbes couldn't do it, Darien would. He knew that.

He knew Darien couldn't. This was their first day here. Darien wouldn't go Quicksilver if Hobbes had anything to say about it.

****

Three minutes later, the door to the interrogation room opened and Hobbes came out, looking slightly disheveled. There was silence in the room behind him as he shut the door.

"Well?"

"Petrov's hangout is a little Russian restaurant on Fourteenth Street. Now we just have to come up with a plan." He started down the hall.

Darien followed. "How the hell did you get that guy to talk to you?"

Hobbes glanced over, his expression unreadable. "Trade secret."

****

Darien tugged on his leather jacket, asking himself even as he opened the door and went in to the small blue and white interior of the small restaurant what he was doing going through with this. 

He didn't have to work to put a nervous expression on his face as he went in, and he looked around, immediately spotting Petrov.

The Russian was maybe forty-five years old, and as he sat there with a big heaping plate of some unidentifiable substance he looked like a businessman taking a lunch break, and not the dangerous killer he supposedly was.

Darien hesitated, but squared his shoulders and went right for the man.

A younger, blond, seven-foot-tall wall stood suddenly, blocking Darien's way. "_Na khuya_?"

"Uh." Here was a problem he hadn't anticipated. "I wanna talk to Petrov."

Those words brought the restaurant to a complete silence. 

The wall in front of him just gazed down at him impassively. "Name?"

"Fawkes. Darien Fawkes."

The wall glanced back at Petrov.

The older man was gazing at Darien with deceptively mild interest. "Come here."

Darien moved around the wall obediently and went to the small table. 

Around them, the diners started talking again, lowly. 

"Not many people come around here speaking my name. You must have balls of solid iron." The humor in his voice was almost as thick as the accent.

"I guess that depends on who you ask," Darien answered uncomfortably.

Petrov smiled faintly. "You have a reason, I presume?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"I heard you can make things happen. I got a problem, I wanted to solve it. Look, before you say anything, I know you're an expensive guy to get a favor from, and it's more than I got. But there's other things I could do for a guy like you."

Petrov sat back and studied him. "Mr.…Fawkes, was it?'

Darien nodded.

"You're lucky I'm not a man who particularly minds discussing business over lunch."

"Oh. Yeah. I'm sorry, I'm just in kind of a hurry to get this settled."

"I see. Now, what exactly is it you think you could do for me?"

Darien shrugged. "I could do you favors. I'm a good guy to have on your side. I can get in and out of places real easy."

"You're a thief."

"Uh. Well, yeah."

Petrov nodded, not responding to that revelation with any sort of negativity or interest. "You think I need another petty thief on my side?"

"I never said petty," Darien snapped back a little too fast. He stopped, remembering who he was talking to. "Sorry, I just…I'm good at what I do. It couldn't hurt."

"Interesting. But before we go on, tell me. What problem brought you to my table."

"I've got--"

"Would you care for something to eat?"

Darien stopped and glanced down at the plate of…stuff…on the table, then shook his head. "No thanks. I've got kind of a problem, and it's not the kind of thing I can handle."

"I hate vague answers," Petrov replied dryly.

"There's a cop. He's been on my tail for a few days. The guy…he wants to take me down. He almost had me once, but I got out. Technicality. He's been on my tail since then, but the last few days he's been everywhere. I'm planning something…well, it isn't good for my business to have a cop tailing me."

"I can understand that. You want this man dead."

Surprised by the bluntness, Darien just nodded. He didn't like the plan, but Hobbes was adamant. Even if they got their hands on Petrov, the FBI could take him out of sheer authority. Unless a crime was attempted against one of them. Then they had precedence, and it would be their option to give him up. 

"Interesting." Petrov kept his expression blank.

Darien shrugged. "I know, it's not the best offer you've ever had. Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it."

Petrov studied him. "You don't speak any Russian."

"Sorry. You want me to take a crash course?" Darien offered his own dry smile.

Petrov nodded slightly. "You have potential, I believe. I wonder what you could do for me." He made a motion. "Ivan?"

The blond wall from earlier stood and came over. "Yes, sir?"

"Take our new friend outside and see if you can find this man who is following him."

Ivan nodded once and turned to Darien.

Darien stood a little uncertainly, then led the hulk outside. He stopped on the sidewalk, glancing around. 

Hobbes was tailing him, but it was to keep an eye and ear open, not to make this look authentic. Neither of them had figured Petrov would take the bait so easily.

The dark rental car's door opened as Darien looked over it, and Hobbes got out, starting slowly across the street, making an effort to look like he wasn't staring at Darien.

Darien nodded to him with relief. "There. That's the guy, the one crossing at the light."

Ivan gave his single nod reply, then, before Darien could say anything, he started in long strides down the street, towards Hobbes.

Darien went after him, fast, worry rising up inside of him. Petrov didn't say he was going to kill Hobbes, not yet. 

Well, maybe this was what they needed to have happen. Sooner they got this done, the happier the Boss would be, and the easier he would accept the price of renting a luxury car, and the two huge meals the two men had had so far, at his expense.

"Excuse me, sir." Ivan called out to Hobbes with no subtlety at all.

Hobbes looked over in surprise. His eyes went to Darien and then narrowed into slits. "What do you want?"

Darien almost grinned -- Hobbes knew how to play a role.

"My employer would like to meet you. Please come with me."

"You changing the game on me, Fawkes?" Hobbes crossed his arms and planted his feet. "I didn't think you'd be man enough to take me by yourself."

Ivan moved fast, grabbing his arm and hauling him off-balance. "Please, sir, come with me," he said again.

Hobbes couldn't hide the wince as the guy dragged him behind him on the street.

Darien followed, then remembered his role and sped up, going to Ivan's other side, not saying a word.

They entered the restaurant, and Darien was surprised to see that every single person who had been sitting and eating was gone. Aside from one man behind the counter, and Sergei Petrov, the place was empty.

Petrov stood when they came in. "So this is the troublesome officer."

Hobbes let a look of surprise come over his face, but he nodded to the man. "_Kak pozhivaesh', Gespashin_ _Petrov_?" 

Petrov smiled. "A cultured man. I hadn't imagined."

__

Neither had I, Darien wanted to reply, staring at his partner in surprise.

"Please, come in. _Kak dela, _sir?"

"Wonderful, until about ten seconds ago. You mind telling me what I'm doing in here?"

"Your attention seems to have made my new friend uncomfortable. I wonder if there is something we can do about that."

Hobbes glanced at Darien uncertainly, then back to Petrov. "What is this? Some kind of bribe attempt?"

__

"Ty mne van'ku ne val'aj. Don't pretend to be dumber than you really are, officer. You know who I am."

Hobbes' eyebrows flew up. "So you're gonna kill me? Over this punk?" He jerked a thumb at Darien. 

"Not correct entirely." 

Darien glanced over. "No?" he couldn't help blurting out.

Petrov smiled at him grimly. "No. I don't kill policemen for strangers. Not until they prove their worth to me. We shall keep a hold of your friend here until I know you can do what you're bragging about. Prove that you are worth something to me, and he will die. If not, we will let him go, and he will have more than enough to arrest you and lock you in jail where you no doubt belong."

Darien stiffened at that. "Yeah? He'd just arrest you, too, after this. You won't let him go."

"I certainly will. He isn't my enemy, Mr. Fawkes. If I release him and he attempts to make me regret it, he will become my enemy, and I'm sure he doesn't want that."

Hobbes stayed diplomatically neutral. 

Darien glanced over at him, wondering why he didn't make a move. There was more than enough of a threat here to consider this a crime, right? They should arrest him, get on with it.

Hobbes returned his gaze, then glanced meaningfully at Petrov. 

Darien nodded almost imperceptibly.

A second later Hobbes was diving for Ivan, and Darien jumped Petrov, bowling him over with an oomph of air. 

The older man didn't fight, didn't struggle. He got a glare on his face, a dark, evil look as he looked up at Darien, that almost made the younger man shiver noticeably. 

"Shit!"

Darien turned at the voice, and saw his shorter partner struggling to knock the huge Ivan down. He sent a glare to Petrov, and jerked a hand out and covered the older man's eyes. 

He sent that mental thought to his brain, and felt the cold creeping over him, covering him like water and then freezing over his skin. Suddenly the hand holding Petrov's eyes shut was invisible, but it wasn't until he stood and was making his way to catch Ivan by surprise that Petrov opened his eyes and discovered his attacker was gone.

Darien made his way quickly to the two men, and without a pause he dove at Ivan's midsection, catching the giant by surprise and making him lose his balance. 

"Darien!" Hobbes couldn't hide his anger when he realized why the man had fallen so suddenly. "Come out of it! Now!" He spoke even as he moved over Ivan, his arm rising and then falling in a quick, hard punch that left the man senseless.

Darien reappeared, shivering slightly as the cold melted away. He met Hobbes' angry gaze and shrugged. "It worked."

"Yeah, great. Let's get them out of here and get home. You're gonna need a shot now."

"Not anytime soon. I wasn't under for that long." Darien went back to Petrov, who was staring at him in shock. He almost groaned when he realized Petrov had seen him reappear, but he decided not to call Hobbes' attention to the fact. "Get up," he said simply.

Petrov stood slowly, his interested gaze staying locked on Darien's face. "I can see you weren't lying about getting in and out of places undetected."

Hobbes glanced back from where he was trying to lock cuffs around Ivan's meaty fists. "Oh, great. The Boss is gonna love that. You let the guy see you, didn't you?"

"You're the one that told me to come out of it."

"Since when do you listen to anything I say?"

"Excuse me?"

The two men turned in surprise, and Darien saw the man that had been behind the counter, the man he'd forgotten about.

"Just wonderful. You turned your back on one of them." Hobbes just glared at the gun in the man's hand, then back to Darien. "Way to stay on top, kid."

"Me? You saw him to when you came in, don't blame me for everything."

"But I was trying to take down Andre the Giant here, while you were--"

"Excuse me!" The man stepped away from the counter. "I think you should both stay quiet. Put your hands up and step away from Mr. Petrov."

Darien kept his eyes on Hobbes, who shrugged. "We outnumber him. We've got a human shield." He nodded at Petrov. "Let's get out of here."

Darien grinned and tugged Petrov with him, keeping him between himself and the gunman. 

Hobbes moved close to them, and together the two of them tugged Petrov towards the door.

They stopped in the doorway and exchanged frowns when four more guns were suddenly shoved into their faces.

Petrov jerked away from them and moved to the side of the last man standing near the door. "No one comes in or leaves my place without my men knowing," he said with a smug grin. "You men have made very grave mistakes here."

Hobbes snorted. "Big surprise."

Petrov looked at him, his eyes going into that hard, cold glare Darien had gotten a brief glimpse of. "You should have known better than to come after me, _ment_."

Hobbes glanced at his partner. "Wanna learn some Russian?"

Darien gaped at him, his hands half-raised in the face of the guns. "I don't think it's a good time, pal."

"Sure it is. Just look at the smug asshole over there, and repeat after me." Hobbes turned his pleasant grin to Petrov. "_Kurite moju trubku._"

Petrov smiled, but it was a brittle expression. "You Americans overvalue the effects of cursing. Actions speak louder than words. You've heard that said, yes?"

Hobbes chuckled. "You want to act that out, you go right ahead, mister."

From behind, a meaty arm suddenly looped over Hobbes' head and around his neck, yanking him back into a solid body. Ivan. 

Petrov nodded approvingly. "You're in over your heads here, gentlemen. We will put you somewhere safe while I figure out the best way to employ my new, talented friend." His gaze slid over Darien before turning to Hobbes again. "And before I kill you, I will make you eat those words."

A sudden movement from the arm around his neck choked any smart-ass reply Hobbes could have made out of him, and he grabbed at the arm, wheezing painfully.

Darien almost jumped to his aid, but the man closest to him stepped forward, pointing the gun meaningfully. 

"I would do what these men tell you," Petrov said to Darien. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt. You're quite a prize." He turned to his men and let loose a burst of Russian, then retreated into the restaurant and out of sight.

"Come with us." 

Darien was grabbed and shoved along with the men, and from the sound of it Hobbes was being dragged right behind them.

They only went down a few doors, and every person they saw on the street made a point of not noticing a damned thing out of the ordinary. 

Finally he was pushed down a flight of steps, to a basement room. A door was opened, and he was shoved into darkness, followed by Hobbes.

The door behind them shut, and Darien knew, as the little light coming in vanished and they were left alone in the silent darkness, that this was one situation he just didn't want to be in.

****

"Hobbes?"

"Huh?"

"Just making sure you didn't pass out on me. I can't see a thing in here."

"I can't believe we have a room at the Ritz and we're spending the night in some one-room pit off Fourteenth Street."

"The Boss is gonna laugh his ass off."

"No he isn't, 'cause we're not gonna tell the fat SOB. We're gonna get out of this, and act like it never happened."

Darien nodded at that, forgetting Hobbes couldn't see him. He settled back into his uncomfortable seat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and sighed. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"He saw me. He knows about me. You think he's gonna do something about it?"

"Got me, kid. You'd be a handy pet to have around for a guy like him. He may just do what he said he was going to earlier. Hold on to me to force you to help him. Seems like a nice, all-purpose kind of plan to me."

"Tell me you aren't as casual about this as you sound."

Hobbes' laughter rang out through the darkness. "Casual? Bobby Hobbes is never casual."

"So you're working out some kind of plan, right?"

"Always."

"Good." There was silence. Darien sighed again, shifting his legs slightly. "Jesus, this is boring."

"Enjoy it. Better we be alone and bored than have them come back and make things interesting."

"I see your point."

****

Darien woke up from a fitful sleep, and immediately his back shouted a protest.

He straightened with a groan, stretching himself and wincing at the sharp jabs of pain that sliced through him where his muscles and bones had been stretched or twisted the wrong way. 

God, what happened to the days when he could pass out anywhere, get three hours of sleep, and be fine for the next day? He was getting…old. 

Jesus. Bad thought.

A sound from across the small one-roomed prison they'd been thrown into caught his attention. It was just a sharp breath, a gasp, but it brought him up and alert. "Bobby?"

There was no answer.

Darien moved his aching body, forcing himself to stand. "Bobby, you asleep?" He moved forward slowly and awkwardly until his foot bumped into something, and he crouched. "Hey, Hobbes? Rise and shine, buddy." He reached out and felt for an arm, squeezing gently. "Bobb--"

The body under his arm jerked, and a second later Hobbes was gone, moving away from the touch and the presence over him before Darien even realized he was awake. 

Darien squinted through the darkness, trying to at least spot the shadow of his partner. "Bobby? It's just me. You okay?"

Hobbes' breathing was ragged and loud. "Darien?"

"Yeah. Relax, it's just me."

"You okay?"

Darien almost laughed at that. "I'm not the one that sounds like he's hyperventilating."

Hobbes made an audible effort to control his breathing. "Shit," he breathed out raggedly.

"Are you all right?"

Bobby sucked in a deep breath, and didn't answer.

Darien moved slowly towards the sound of the harsh breathing. "Bobby, talk to me. You okay?"

"Fine," Bobby got out, not convincing in the slightest. "It's hot in here."

Darien's brow furrowed. It was pretty warm, but Hobbes didn't sound fine. Not at all. "Talk to me, partner. What's wrong?"

"I need some water."

"What?"

"I don't suppose they left us in a prison with a sink, did they?" Hobbes laughed, but it was shaky.

"I don't think so," Darien answered slowly. "Sorry."

"Yeah." Bobby worked to control his breathing.

Darien slowly took a seat, only a couple of feet from his partner. "Must have been a hell of a dream."

"Yeah," Hobbes said again shortly.

Darien moved a few steps closer, concerned. "I don't need you falling apart on me, here. If something--" He had reached out, his hand brushing against Hobbes.

"Stop it!" Hobbes jerked away from him again. "Just stay the hell away from me!"

Darien froze. "Okay," he said slowly. "You want to take a minute and explain to me what's going on here?"

"Nothing's going on. You just stay on your side, I'll stay on mine."

Darien hesitated, but Hobbes' voice, choked as it was, left no room for argument. Finally he turned and moved the few paces back towards the wall, his arms stretched out in front of him to find the cool surface. He turned and sat, his back against the wall. "You want it, you got it."

****

"Ow!" Darien jerked awake, his hand going to his side as a flash of pain swept through him.

"Sorry," came the short reply. 

"Sorry? You kicked me!"

"Didn't mean to. It's dark in here, if you haven't noticed."

Darien sat up slowly, the bullet wound still healing in his side throbbing where it had been aggravated. "Can't you just stay still?"

Bobby kept up his constant pacing, not bothering to respond.

"Hobbes, come on. We both need sleep if we're gonna find a way out of this, right?"

"Fine! Go to sleep. I'll stay the hell out of your personal space."

Darien frowned through the room, finally getting more than a little irritated by his partner's behavior. "Excuse me? Who was it who decided we had to set up boundaries to stay away from each other? Look, I don't know if you're being an asshole because you're scared of the dark or something, but it's getting old. Just sit down and go to sleep, Hobbes."

"Can't. Not tired. I'll stay away from you."

"Hobbes--"

"Dammit, Fawkes! Back off! I said I was sorry! Can you not shut up for five minutes?"

Darien's brow creased. He had just slept for a good few hours, he felt that. He'd only been awake for a minute. Hobbes was a jerk a lot of the time, yeah, but not like this. "Bobby?" He kept his voice gentle.

"What??"

"Are you claustrophobic?"

"No!"

"Uh huh. Look, I'm sorry I didn't realize it before. Why don't we--"

"Dammit, Fawkes, I'm not lying to you. I'm not claustrophobic, I never have been. I'm not scared of the dark, either, so put away the warm-milk-and-cookies routine and just let me think." He kept up his pacing, his steps firm and sure in the pitch black dark. "Son of a bitch!"

"What?" This was bothering Darien more and more with every second that went by. 

"We've been in here over a full day. You realize that?"

"Feels like it."

"Twenty-six and a half hours."

Darien didn't bother asking how he knew that. "So? It's good they haven't come back yet, isn't it?"

"No! I have to get out of here. Jesus, I'm thirsty. I just…I need some water. Shit, I just need something to drink."

Darien could hear a tightly-controlled hysteria growing in that voice, and it scared him. "Bobby, relax. They won't keep us here forever, just until Petrov decides how he can use me to his best advantage. They'll come sometime soon."

"Yeah? Great. So you get…" He trailed off suddenly, and the footsteps slowed and then stopped. 

"Bobby?" Darien felt his way up the wall, standing carefully. "Bobby? Don't come unglued on me, here."

"Yeah." The other man's voice was suddenly quieter, a little sickly. "Just got a little…dizzy. Sorry."

"God dammit, you're starting to scare me. Would you please tell me what's wrong?"

"I think…shit. I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm sorry." 

Darien heard a muffled sound, and knew Hobbes had just hit the ground. "Shit. Shit, shit. Bobby? Talk to me here."

"I'm sorry," came the slightly slurred response.

Darien moved, feeling with his hands, until he found Hobbes. Bobby for once didn't pull away when Darien touched him. He just sat there, shaking slightly.

Darien could feel the slight tremor of muscles under his hand. Shit, this was serious. "Bobby, I swear to God, if you drop dead on me, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Doan w'rry," Bobby got out, his slurring getting worse with every passing second. "'m fine."

"All right, just keep your mouth shut and try and sleep or something. I'll get you out of here, pal. Soon as they get back, we're out. I promise."

"'kay." Bobby dropped flat on his back without an argument, which showed Darien just how much he must have been hurting. "G'night."

"Yeah." Darien was wide-awake now, sitting over the shaking form of his partner, worried and uncertain and without a clue of how to deal with it.

****

When the door finally opened, the light that poured into the pitch-black room was enough to blind Darien when he looked into it. His eyes slammed shut, his hand going up to block the light instinctively.

"Mr. Fawkes. Is that your real name, by chance?"

Darien squinted up at the forms that had come in, recognizing Petrov's voice. "Yeah," he said simply.

"Good. Could you come with us, please?"

Darien turned to Bobby, who he could now see in the suddenly light. "Bobby?" He reached out and shook his partner's arm.

"Just you, Mr. Fawkes."

Darien glanced back. "No deal. Both of us."

"Deal? We haven't made any kind of a deal, Darien. You come with us or we'll shoot him and leave him here to bleed to death."

Darien's jaw tightened. He was getting so sick of other people controlling his life… "Look, what about some water or food or something?"

"We'll take care of it. Come. Now."

Darien stood up slowly, reluctant. The last thing he wanted was for Bobby to wake up in the middle of whatever bizarre sickness had come over him, and find himself totally alone in here. "Water. Promise me, at least water."

"You're hardly in a position to demand it, but if you like, I promise. Water."

Darien moved slowly, casting his eyes back to the crumbled form of his partner. He just hoped whatever Petrov wanted with him, he could get it over with nice and fast, and get back there to help out Bobby.

"Here." Petrov lofted a large glass, setting it on the table in front of Darien.

Darien blinked at it. "What's that?" he asked, automatically suspicious. 

"Water. As you requested."

"Not for me, you asshole. For my partner."

Petrov's eyebrows lofted. "You ask favors and insult in the same breath. And you forget you're in no position to do either."

"Come on, just give the guy some water. It's not a lot to--"

"Mr. Fawkes. I can see you and your partner are close. Perhaps you can understand, even if you don't approve, when I say that we will give him absolutely nothing until you earn it from us. If you do as I say, we'll take care of him. If not, we will let him slowly starve to death, dehydrate. And we will let you go in every night and sit with him as it happens."

Darien felt a flash of anger coming over him that surprised him in its intensity. "You son of a bitch."

"Yes, I suppose so. Now, let's talk details, shall we?"

"Let's not." Darien sent a quick thought through his head, shooting straight for the gland. With a shiver, he felt the coldness of invisibility come over him.

"Mr. Fawkes, you can't leave the restaurant. You may as well come out of it."

Darien moved quickly, as quiet as he could, leaving the seat and heading away from Petrov and the few men sitting around a couple of other tables. 

Petrov waved to his men. "Find him."

The man stood. Ivan the Wall immediately headed for where Darien was standing, and Darien slid out of the way as the blond passed him. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? If he could make it to the door and out onto the street, he could--

"If you get away, we'll kill your partner."

Shit! Darien had to consciously repress cursing out loud. Could he get to that small door down that flight of stairs before Petrov and his men?

No. If he went out the door they would see it, and even if he beat them there, he could never get Hobbes up and out before they caught up.

He was screwed. Not even invisibility was getting him out of this one.

One of Petrov's other men, a wiry, muscular blond, was getting closer to where he was.

Darien fought off the sensation of defeat. He would still find a way out of this. Somehow.

He made his decision a conscious thought, and the gland responded in turn. The coat of light-refracting silver over him cracked and melted away, bringing him back into plain sight almost a foot away from the closest man.

The wiry blond in front of him jerked in shock when he appeared, and reacted automatically, sweeping up the small revolver he held.

"No!" Petrov's shout came too late, and was almost covered by the boom of the gun.

Darien felt a sudden ache in his side, and he looked down in shock, almost wanting to laugh. The same spot. The same damned spot he had been shot before. 

Considerate of them. He'd still only have scars in the one place.

He grinned weakly at the thought, even as his hand came up to the spot, getting coated quickly with the blood leaking out of him.

"E'b tvoju mat'!" Petrov's voice rang out, a harsh sound.

Darien swayed as he stood. He turned to the leader of the group, his grin growing. "Sorry, Sergei. Looks like you'll have to find a new plan."

"_Der'mo_!" Petrov reached his side quickly, grabbing his hand and forcing it away from the wound. 

Darien could hear more of that distinct language ringing out around him, but it faded into a buzz as he stood there, gawking down at his side. 

The lights in the restaurant seemed to fade as the volume on that buzz melted down, and soon Darien was left in silence and darkness.

****

"Jesus Christ. Jesus H. Fucking Christ. I can't believe this. I just can't fucking believe this."

Darien recognized the voice as he woke up, and he couldn't hide a small grin. Hobbes was sounding like his old self again, that was good.

But why was he on the ground?

A flash of pain, familiar, struck him, and he muffled a groan. He was shot again. Again. Shot. Hobbes was right -- Jesus Christ.

"You awake, you asshole?"

Darien opened his eyes, wanting to tell Bobby how rude a way that was to greet someone who'd been shot.

As soon as Hobbes saw his eye open, he crouched down beside him. "What the hell did you do? You were gone for fifteen minutes, they drag you back in here bleeding."

The daylight was filtering through the room from somewhere over their heads, and Darien could look down at himself. His shirt was bulging strangely, and he reached down to pull it up and see what was under there.

But a flash of nausea stopped him, bringing his head back down to the ground with a groan. 

"Just lay still. You should know how to handle this, hotshot. It's not the first time this has happened."

Darien obeyed, keeping his head down as he forced his eyes back open. He found himself staring right into Hobbes' face, and he almost groaned.

As much as he sounded like his old self, the guy looked like hell. His eyes were almost wild, his voice was fast and a little too loud, though that may have been just an impression caused by the pounding in Darien's head. "You okay?" he rasped out.

"Me? Yeah, great." Hobbes shrugged, a rapid, careless gesture. "You wanna tell me what you did to get yourself shot?"

"I tried to help you," Darien answered as he moved stiffly, trying to sit up. 

"Stop!" Hobbes crouched down at his side, pushing him back to the ground. "Just stay still. You've gotta give yourself a little while, or you'll start bleeding again."

"Yes, sir." Darien tried to sound sarcastic, but he was almost grateful for the order. He wasn't in a rush to go anywhere, not the way he was feeling. 

Hobbes reached out and lifted his shirt with hands that Darien could see from a distance were still trembling. He looked past the hands and saw a familiar-colored fabric wrapped around his midsection, crudely bandaging the wound in his side.

Hobbes' jacket, he realized. For once he said a silent thank-you for Hobbes' habit of wearing one of those hideous Miami Vice jackets everywhere.

Those shaking hands quickly checked over the makeshift bandage, reassuring Hobbes that everything was still in place after Darien's attempts at movement. 

He then pulled away from the younger man, trying to stand up. He swayed and lost his balance, stumbling against the wall. "Shit."

Darien rose on his elbows. "Bobby, are you--"

"Just don't ask again. I'm fine, okay?"

"Why exactly is it that I'm having a hard time believing that?"

"Maybe you're paranoid."

Darien grinned faintly at that. "Hi, pot. I'm kettle."

Hobbes laughed suddenly, a strained sound. "Good one, kid." He sagged back against the wall, letting himself slide down to the floor rather ungracefully. "Wonder when they'll be back."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! We've got to get out of here. I'm going nuts in here, you're gonna get some kind of infection or bleed to death, and I want a glass of fucking water."

Darien opened his mouth to argue, but he let his head fall back against the hard floor. He was tired, and Hobbes was right, so he didn't bother arguing. 

They had to get out of there. They had to get up and look around and find a way. They had to start moving. 

It was time for action.

He drifted into sleep.

****

When Darien became aware of outside sensations again, it was to the cool feeling of liquid against his lips. He opened his mouth obediently, and felt the slide of water hitting his throat. He swallowed eagerly, once, then twice, and then suddenly the sensation went away.

He heard himself almost whimpering in protest, and a voice answered him. "Sorry, kid. Got other uses for this stuff."

He tried to open his eyes, but they felt alarmingly heavy. He managed to squint wide enough to see light, and a dark form over him. "Bobby?" His voice sounded strange.

"Yeah, it's me, kid." Even Hobbes sounded different. He was talking slower now, almost like he was half-awake himself. 

Still, it was his partner, and that knowledge made Darien relax and let his eyes shut again.

He felt a sudden coolness soothing the fire that ran down his side, and if he had been able he would have said thank you. He lay still, willing his mind and body to return to the same place so he could help his partner in some small way.

The coolness was followed by a gentle, light stroking, and then more coolness. It was nice, really nice. 

"Shit," Hobbes said over his head.

"You gotta stop swearing so much," Darien murmured with a smile. "You're too uptight."

"Uh huh. Keep thinking that, kid."

"Something wrong?"

"Oh, one or two things, maybe." The sarcasm in Bobby's response was belied by the slowness of his words, and the low, almost lazy tone. 

Darien tried to open his eyes again, and was pleased when they opened almost completely without much effort. 

The room was dimmer than it had been, and he knew the sun was setting. They were going on two solid days in there, with him leaving only long enough to be shot. Great way to spend a weekend.

He turned his somewhat blurry gaze to Hobbes.

His partner was sitting over him, his eyes on Darien but unfocused, like he was a million miles away somewhere. He was moving slightly as he sat, almost as if it was taking too much energy to even be able to sit up. 

"Bobby, you okay? Tell me the truth this time, huh?"

Hobbes blinked down at him, but his eyes never focused. He looked in the general direction of Darien's face. "I feel like shit," he said in those slow, slurred, frighteningly disconnected tones. 

"You look like shit. Guess we're both pretty screwed, huh?"

Bobby nodded vaguely. "More than you know."

"Whaddaya mean?" 

Hobbes reached out and grabbed Darien's arm. Still not focusing on his face, he lofted Darien's hand until Darien could see the newest addition to his body -- the snake tattoo.

Darien shut his eyes with a groan. Half the snake was bright red, the other half still green, but for how long?

Jesus, he couldn't lose his mind. Not then. They had too much else to worry about. The Keeper was in another state, the bad guys had them under lock and key, and they were both weak and disoriented, and in no shape to save the other in any capacity. 

Hobbes dropped his hand, letting it fall to the ground. "Been watching that for the last hour or so," he drawled out. "It's kinda pretty."

"You've lost your mind," Darien answered with half-hearted sarcasm. Could anything else go wrong? Really? In the big scheme of things, what else could happen to the two of them? What could possibly make this day any more of a disaster?

Hobbes moved suddenly, practically flopping over onto the ground. It would have been comical if not for the look on his face. "I can't…can't get myself together, Darien. I dunno what's…but I can't…"

"S'okay," Darien murmured right back to him. "Neither can I. Just lay down. We'll be okay."

"No," Hobbes' eyes moved to Darien's face, and he rolled onto his side, less than a foot from his partner. "I dunno if we will."

Darien again couldn't argue with that, so he stayed quiet for a minute. "If we're not," he said slowly. "Been nice knowing you, partner."

Hobbes' eyebrows lifted in subtle angles, and he seemed to be waiting.

"No punchline. I'm serious."

"Look, kid…Darien. 'm sorry I wasn't better…I mean…shit, I dunno. It _has_ been nice. Best partner I ever had, ya know that?"

Darien smiled faintly. "Even though we're both gonna drop dead of nameless ailments in some rat-infested room in New York City?"

Hobbes laughed, the sound breathier and less energetic than anything Darien had ever heard come out of the agent. 

There was a sudden noise over their heads, from the direction of the door.

Darien groaned. "Not now," he said quietly.

Hobbes actually looked a little frightened. "I can't…move. Jesus, I can't…"

"Shhh." Darien was moved by a sudden urge, an instinct that said it was worth it to try something far-fetched and unlikely, if it got them left alone for a little while longer.

He moved slowly, dragging his body across the floor until he was right up against Hobbes. He turned on his side, grateful at least it was the unwounded side he was putting his weight on. Without a self-conscious thought or sarcastic comment, he wrapped his arms around his partner, feeling the heat coming off the smaller body, the trembling and tics still shaking him as he lay there. 

Hobbes' eyes were open, looking at him, but he didn't say a word.

Darien knew he might be signing their death warrants -- there was no evidence this would work, and it would only speed up the evil creeping to take control of his mind and body -- but he shut his eyes and sent a specific thought to the foreign gland in his brain.

The cold moved over him quickly, and he kept hold of Hobbes tightly. His gaze caught on the metallic flashes moving from his arms and down the lengths of their bodies, spreading from Darien to Hobbes, enfolding both men in its frozen grip. 

And a moment later, neither of them were visible on the ground.

The door opened, and voices came through, casually speaking that guttural language. 

A moment later the voices cut off, and the tone went from a conversation between friends to an instant surprise and almost panic. 

There was a confused exchange, and then the door slammed shut again, leaving the two alone.

Darien breathed a sigh of relief, and let the Quicksilver dissolve from them. It had taken much more energy than usual to do that, to freeze two men at once, and he was exhausted.

When Bobby's face reappeared, his expression was wide-eyed. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but shut it again without a word.

Darien wondered if he should move away from his partner, but suddenly Hobbes moved, bringing his trembling arms up and around to fold Darien closer. 

Maybe it was the panic, or the uncertainty of the situation. Maybe it was that he was just scared about what was happening to him, and about Darien bleeding and slowly being taken over by that monster gland inside of him. For whatever reason, Bobby moved even closer to the younger man and shut his eyes with strange, rasping breath.

Darien didn't speak, and he tightened his own hold around his partner. It felt good laying there holding on to him. In the short time they had known each other, they had gone through a lot together. Just the two of them. And if he was going to die in some pointless, stupid way, he was glad Bobby was the one by his side. 

If the door opened again while he was still awake, he wouldn't go invisible. He would let Petrov find the two of them in each other's arms, and he would let the Russian bastard do whatever the hell he wanted with them. If that meant he would never wake up again, so be it.

****

"--to know what the hell they were thinking."

"I don't want you saying a word to him. Not until he's at least able to answer you in his right mind."

Darien heard the voices, but he couldn't quite place them. It sounded, for all intents and purposes, like the Boss. And the Keeper. But that couldn't be right, They weren't in New York City, and they couldn't have found him and Bobby. 

Bobby. Bobby was gone. 

Darien took a quick mental stock of his situation before he opened his eyes and let the illusion of being in allied company shatter.

He was on a bed, something soft. He was covered up. His side felt…well, it felt numb, but that was better than pain. 

But the warm body that he had gone to sleep holding on to was gone, and that was enough to make the relief he felt vanish. 

He opened his eyes to the sound of a shutting door, and was shocked when his vision, clear and normal, sent his brain the sight of the Lab. 

The Keeper was frowning towards the door, but she turned back to him a moment later, and smiled when she saw his eyes were open. "Nice of you to join us again, Darien."

"That really you?" he asked in response, his voice stronger than it had been when he drifted off.

She laughed slightly. "I think this is the first time you've ever been happy to see me."

"How?"

She hesitated. "The monitor."

He glanced down at his arm. The snake was green again. He frowned at it for a moment, then snapped his gaze back up to her face. "You put some kind of homing device on me?"

"After what happened last time, I thought it was only right." She was completely unapologetic. "Last time this happened, I had been driving around for an hour looking for you. If Hobbes hadn't managed to page me, and I hadn't been close by on the road, I wouldn't have gotten to you in time."

Darien shuddered when he realized how accurate that was. "So you know where I am at all times now?" The thought brought him no pleasure at all.

"No," she assured him. "The only time the beacon turns on is when the monitor activates. When the Quicksilver madness starts, we can track you. Only then."

He relaxed at that, but breathed in sharply and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Bobby! Where is he?"

"Bobby?" She raised her eyebrows, but nodded behind him.

Darien turned, and almost sighed his relief when he saw his partner tucked into a bed that looked just like the one he was on more often than he wanted to be. "Is he okay?"

"Barely. You two were damned lucky we had that beacon put into you, Darien. As it was we almost didn't make it in time."

"In time for what?" Darien had a sudden mental image: he and Bobby had been in each other's arms the last thing he could remember. If the madness had come, it would have been so easy for him to have tried to kill his partner again. He could see himself, hands wrapped around Bobby's throat, but this time Bobby didn't have the strength to fight back.

The image would give him nightmares, he knew.

She saw his look. "The madness was close, but you were too weak. You didn't hurt him."

He _did_ sigh in relief that time, his eyes still on Bobby. "So what happened?"

"You know that Hobbes is taking medication?"

Lithium. Darien nodded.

"Well, he was dehydrated. He hadn't had a drop of water in days, and that increased the level of the lithium in his blood. It became toxic for him. We're lucky we caught him in time. And you, you were on your way to developing a nasty infection. Luckily we managed to get some shots into you as well."

Darien shuddered slightly, remembering the spaced-out, lethargic way Bobby had been acting towards the end. "He gonna be okay?"

"You'll both be fine."

Darien was able to look away at that confirmation, and he turned back to the blonde. "What about Petrov?"

She grimaced. "He got away. From us and the FBI. The Official is very angry at the two of you, but I've managed to get you a couple of days off before you have to go in and make excuses."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That was nice of you."

She smiled. "I _am_ capable of being nice, you know."

"Must be a nuisance."

She laughed. "At times, yes." She glanced to the door and her smile faded. "I'd better go tell him you're awake." She headed for the door, but stopped and glanced back. "Hobbes was awake earlier, you know. He wouldn't calm down until he saw that you were safe, that's why he's in here." She met his eyes, a question in her expression. "I thought you two didn't get along."

Darien shrugged. "We're partners." He knew she wouldn't understand -- even if she understood the dynamics of partnerships in some psychological, clinical way, she wouldn't understand what the word meant to the two of them. 

She sure didn't look like she understood. She blinked at him, then turned and left the Lab.

Darien turned immediately and scooted off the bed, going to his partner's side. "Bobby?"

It was strange, looking down at him now. In fact, it was strange in all ways where Hobbes was concerned. For some reason, Darien looked at him and thought about how close they had come to dying off alone in a dark room, and how the only thing that had brought him comfort was having this man wrapped up in his arms.

It was strange, and he had no idea what to make of it.

He _did _know he wouldn't feel better until he saw those familiar eyes open again. "Bobby?"

Hobbes murmured something and rolled onto his side, curling up on the thin bed.

Darien grinned. Bobby looked like another person when he slept. He wasn't making one of those constant sarcastic faces. In fact, there was no expression at all on a face that was usually animated in some way or another. It made him look almost innocent. "Bobby? Rise and shine."

Bobby let out another grumble, but his eyes swung open. His gaze locked on Darien, and he sat up immediately, instantly alert. "Darien!" His eyes swept the room around them, and when he realized where they were he relaxed. "You okay?"

Darien had to laugh at that. "You've got to stop worrying about me so much. You're gonna give me a complex."

Bobby sat back, grinning slightly. "How the hell did we get here?"

"Long story. How about you? You okay?"

"Yeah." He grimaced and looked down at himself. "Shit, I hate this."

"What?"

"That stupid medication. That fucking prescription. It isn't bad enough the stuff makes me a joke, it also almost got us killed."

"Hey, don't take all the credit. I helped at almost getting us killed." Darien smiled crookedly.

Hobbes wasn't buying into the joke in his voice. "This is fucked up. This is _so_ fucked up. You know, I think they put me on that damned prescription on purpose. I think they like having their agents addicted to something they can provide more easily than anyone else. Fucking power-hungry bastards."

"Hey, hey." Darien sat on the edge of the bed. "Relax. I know they're bastards, you know they're bastards. We've accepted that. And yeah, it is fucked up. You're right. But there's not much we can do about it now, is there?"

Hobbes glared around, but it faded when the Keeper was nowhere in sight. Finally he just sighed and sat up. "Can we break out of here or what?"

"Yep. She even got us a couple of days off, she said."

"How very human of her."

"Wasn't it?" Darien glanced down at himself. "Now I just gotta find some replacement for this napkin they have us dressed in."

Hobbes looked down at himself, at the flimsy hospital-style robe, and frowned. "We've gotta have clothes around here somewhere."

"You stay put, I'll look around." Darien got up and headed for the Keeper's desk, his eyes skimming over the shelves lining the wall.

He found the two piles of clothes folded and stacked neatly on a shelf by the desk, and he grabbed them. "Bingo."

Hobbes took his clothes when Darien came to his side, grinning. "Good. Now just a long bath and a five-course meal, and I'll feel human again."

"Yeah, you and me both. I could go for a huge, bloody steak right about now."

"Shit, yeah. A plate of fries, a cold beer…"

Darien grinned. "You're on."

Hobbes dug into the pocket of his pants and chuckled. "Shit. They took the gold card back."

"Figures." Darien shrugged into his jeans, the robe covering him enough that he didn't feel awkward. "I'll treat."

Hobbes grinned. "I accept."

Darien returned his smile, and the air between them suddenly flashed. He had a sudden memory, a mental image of being locked in Bobby's grasp, practically clinging to him, able to take comfort in the warmth of his body.

Hobbes' grin faded, and Darien knew he was feeling it, too. He was probably just now remembering those last few minutes before they had both lost track of everything. 

Darien watched him, watched the emotions play over his expressive face. It was suddenly incredibly important to see how Hobbes would react to that memory, and to their sudden camaraderie. Would that closeness, a little over the bounds of typical male, macho partner behavior, close the private man off from his partner? Would Hobbes be able to accept it?

Or would he think about it, wonder why it had felt…good…like Darien was?

The look on the older man's face was unreadable. He looked down at himself for a moment, at his arms. As if he was remembering where they had been, that they had, of his own volition, folded him into the grasp of another man. 

He looked up a minute later, a strange, distant look in his eyes. "Darien…"

****

Darien was looking at him neutrally, as if what had gone on between them wasn't out of the ordinary at all.

Hell, maybe for him it wasn't. But Bobby Hobbes didn't take things like that lightly. He wasn't the most physical guy in the world, and back in that room, when he had taken the step of putting his own arms around his partner, he had been surrendering to something he hadn't yet figured out completely. 

He sat there, trying to think of what the hell he was going to say to Darien. His partner was just trying to save their lives, that was all. That was the only reason for getting so close to him. Just because Bobby hadn't let him go when the danger was over, there was no reason for Darien to think there was anything strange going on.

Hobbes breathed in, filling his lungs, thankful he at least felt normal enough to stand up. He dressed fast, ignoring Darien's almost frozen stare. 

Fuck this. How could he explain it to Darien when he had no idea himself what had gone on in that room? He didn't know why he'd decided that if they were gonna die, he was going to die in Darien's arms. Maybe it was because he really trusted this guy, more than just about anyone in his life. Maybe he just did it to bring some comfort to Darien, out of some sense of responsibility about not getting them out safely.

Maybe it was something more. Hobbes couldn't deny that he had wanted the feeling of being close to the other man. He couldn't deny that once there, it had felt pretty damned good, even in his disconnected state.

But it didn't mean anything. It couldn't. What was there for it to have meant? He still wasn't a touchy-feely kinda guy, and it wasn't like he was in love with his partner or something. That was just dumb.

__

Liar, a voice in his head spit out at that thought.

That voice made him freeze for a moment, and then tense up as he jerked on his shirt and looked around for his shoes. He wasn't lying. It was such a bizarre concept -- in love with Darien Fawkes? It was ridiculous.

__

Liar.

No, he wasn't lying. Love was…well, shit, love in itself was just a ridiculous concept. Fine and good for other people to fall over themselves looking ridiculous for some bizarre emotion like that, but it wasn't for Hobbes. Never had been. Not as a child, an adult, not from his family or anyone else in the world. Love was as foreign a concept as…as…

As not living his life in full service of his government, his brain completed in a surprisingly sarcastic pattern of thought.

Okay, he argued to himself as he searched in vain for some kind of footwear. So he wasn't really working to serve the government anymore. So what?

So, he was working to protect Darien. That was the whole point of his being around. He had figured that out already. 

That still didn't mean he had some strange love-type feelings for him, did it? Of course not. So he was loyal to the guy. That wasn't love. He liked Darien, but that still wasn't love. He had fought with every rapidly-fading brain cell he'd had to save Darien from bleeding to death in that room the day before. Still wasn't love. 

Oh, please. Bobby Hobbes didn't sacrifice himself for anyone, but that's what he had been doing. For Darien.

Still. They were partners, that's what they were supposed to do.

His brain stopped even bothering to argue with his stubborn insistence. It shut down in disgust, leaving him alone in that lab with Darien still watching him.

"So," the younger man said finally, sounding fairly nervous. "How about that dinner?"

Dinner? Steak and beer and a dinner that felt suddenly way too much like a date, though why he would think that was beyond him. 

Holy Christ, maybe he really did think he loved Darien. Maybe that was the problem here. Maybe Darien had seen it in his eyes, which was why he was looking so nervous suddenly.

The idea of him loving someone was too strange to even think about seriously for too long. The idea that that someone could love him back wasn't even worth thinking about. Love was for other people. That was all there was to it. He wasn't meant for it, he had other things to worry about.

So he might as well ease Darien's mind a little bit, get that fear out of his brain. "You know what? I think I'll just go home, get some rest. I'm feeling kinda out of it, you know?"

Darien's face flashed with a couple of strange emotions before he finally smiled and nodded. "I know what you mean. Maybe some other time."

"Yeah." But both of them knew those were empty words. 

Bobby gave up the search. It was suddenly almost vital that he get away from Darien and somewhere by himself. He had things to think about. He had to figure out why his mind was trying to convince him he was feeling all sorts of bizarre things. "I'll see you in a couple of days, kid." Fuck the shoes. He'd drive home in socks.

Darien watched him go silently, and when he stopped at the door and glanced back, the kid's eyes were still on him. 

There was a pause as they stared at each other, and Hobbes tried to figure out if there was something he could say to reassure Darien that he wasn't a freak who had some thing for another man.

No, better to leave the whole subject unspoken. Things like this were better dealt with in silence. 

He turned and went out the door without a look back. 

****

Darien couldn't sleep.

He lay there, flat on his back, thinking about the last few days, and wondering what exactly had happened that had changed so much for him. 

Everything had gotten so damned complicated suddenly. This thing with Hobbes had him turned around and scattered more than he could account for.

They were partners, right? Two guys, friends. 

He wanted to say that was it, but it didn't explain that day to him. It didn't explain why he'd been waiting with bated breath for Bobby to decide if he wanted to go out and eat with him, and it didn't explain the self-conscious thoughts that had been going through him ever since Bobby had said no. He found himself wondering if it was him, something he had said or done that made Bobby suddenly more distant. Was there something about Darien that had made him say no?

That train of thought disgusted the male, macho side of him. Bobby was a friend. Friends didn't get all self-conscious about stupid things like this. Bobby didn't want to eat, that was it. Why did there have to be more to it than that? And even if there was, why would it bother him?

__

Because Bobby is important to you, asshole.

Darien heaved a sigh and turned over restlessly. That was what it all boiled down to, his brain had told him over the last few hours. Bobby had become really important to him, in more ways than he could justify. The man had saved his life, worked to keep him safe. He was a good guy, with a strange sense of humor that meshed with Darien's almost perfectly now that they weren't constantly trying to one-up each other.

Funny thing was, as much as he tried to convince himself that he liked Hobbes because of the events of the last few weeks, what he kept remembering was the last night. Lying on the ground, weak and hurting, and Hobbes being there. The exact moment he most remembered was when Hobbes had slowly, shakily returned his embrace, at a moment when it wasn't important anymore that they stay close. Bobby had folded his arms around Darien, dropped his head down to rest against Darien's neck, and released a shaky sigh that Darien could feel on his skin.

He could feel that breath on his neck even as he lie in his bed, trying to forget it. He could feel those arms around him, could feel the small tremors that belied the strength in that grasp. 

He even found himself wishing he had been a little more in his right mind, so he could remember more of it. He wanted to remember the press of bodies together, the closeness, the brief absence of any walls between them, any posturing.

It was thinking things like that that had him up at four in the morning, staring at his ceiling and wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He was feeling a stirring in his body that he just couldn't equate with his memories of his partner.

It wasn't like he was gay. And even if he was open to swinging that way, Bobby Hobbes wasn't exactly a person he thought he'd fall for. 

Still, he squirmed under the sheets again, and couldn't deny that he was in this constant, half-hard state, and had been since he had got home and opened himself to thinking about Hobbes.

Yeah. Just great. Just when he needed. 

Before he could berate himself any more, there was a noise from the front of the apartment. Someone was knocking on the door.

At this early in the morning, it could only be one person. 

Darien pushed himself up and out of bed, willing his stirring body to contain itself. He got to the door of his bedroom, and heard a muffled noise from outside.

He tensed. Maybe he was wrong. Someone was inside his apartment. A thief? If it was, it was a pretty bad one. 

"Darien?"

No, it was Hobbes all right. He sounded…panicked.

Darien moved outside his room in a flash. "Bobby? What's wrong?"

Hobbes was in his living room. He spun at the sound of his voice, his eyes wide. A flash of something unreadable went over his face. "Are you okay?"

Darien couldn't help but reflect that Hobbes was asking him that an awful lot lately. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Bobby almost deflated in front of him, tension draining out of his body. 

"What's wrong? Jesus, man, it's four in the morning."

"Yeah. Shit. Were you asleep? Sorry, I'll get outta here."

Darien gaped. Sure enough, Bobby turned and headed for the door. "Wait just a minute."

Hobbes glanced back, trying to be casual. As if there was nothing strange about any of this. "What?"

"Bobby…it's four in the morning, You broke into my apartment, looking like you thought I'd be dead or something. You mind telling me what's going on?"

Hobbes stood for a minute, then released a breath. "I…uh. I had a…ya know. A dream."

"A dream? About me?"

Hobbes shrugged. "Sorry to bug you so late."

"Wait a minute. Where are you going?" Darien moved further into the room. "Come on, Bobby. Something's bothering you a hell of a lot if you came all the way out here. Talk to me. I'll make some coffee or something."

Bobby shook his head automatically. "It's nothing. Stupid dream."

"All right, look." Darien turned to face him squarely, running a restless hand through his hair. He was already a little irritated and put-off because of his own strange reactions to the last few days. "This is nuts. Just can the stoic bullshit and tell me why the hell you came out here." 

It was funny. He could look at Bobby's face and tell just from his expression that the words hadn't gotten through to him, that he was ready to give another prefabricated Hobbes answer. "All right, forget it. Just get the hell out of here."

Hobbes looked at him impassively. "No need for a temper tantrum, kid."

"And fuck you too. After all this, I woulda thought you'd have some amount of respect for me. How many times do I have to tell you? I mean…shit. Maybe I'm the one that's wrong here. I keep thinking it means something that we're partners, that we're pretty much alone, putting up with the Agency bullshit together. I guess I've got the wrong idea about it."

"Darien, it was just some dumb dream, okay? This isn't a life or death--"

"Just get out of here." Darien turned his back on his partner.

Hobbes was quiet until Darien reached the door to his bedroom. "This is your fault. You know that?"

Darien glanced back. "My fault?"

"Yeah. You and that fucking promise of yours."

He turned now, seeing the strangely shielded look in his partner's eyes. "What do you mean?"

Hobbes shuffled forward a few steps, looking uncomfortable. "You know, I was pretty out of it when that snake of yours first starting lighting up, but I remembered. I remembered what you made me promise you. I kept thinking, great, how the hell am I gonna kill you when I can hardly sit up straight."

Darien breathed in sharply, reminded of that promise now, and suddenly having a good idea why Hobbes was being closed off to him.

"So I had a dream about it. Another one. Except…" He shook his head. "This one was…hell, when I woke up I didn't know if it was real or not."

"That's why you came over here."

"Yeah. I couldn't put it together, I couldn't figure out if it happened or not. Scared the shit out of me." He shrugged, moving without asking and flopping down on a chair, looking suddenly exhausted. "You're not wrong about us, kid. Being partners…it means a lot to me. You mean a lot. Not easy knowing you've got some kind of death wish, and it's me that's pulling the trigger."

Darien came back in to the living room. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask you to make the promise thinking it was going to hurt you."

"Of course not." Hobbes gave a twisted, bitter smile. "You just figured I could put a bullet in your head and not feel a thing about it, huh? You just assumed that even though it bothered you to get violent and hurt people, so much you wanted to die, I could pop a bullet in you without a problem." He let out a sick chuckle. "You're a selfish little bastard, you know that? You keep bringing up the fact that we're getting kinda close here, but you conveniently forget that if something happens to you, and I have to go through with this and kill you, there's nothing left for me here."

Darien stood there, frozen. It was true, he hadn't exactly thought about what that promise must have meant for Hobbes.

He remembered the night he had asked it of him, and he remembered Hobbes getting up and leaving him alone right afterwards. He didn't have a clue then what had upset Hobbes so much, and now that he did he couldn't believe he hadn't guessed.

Hobbes stood up slowly. "Can I go now? Is it gonna offend you?"

"Yeah, actually it is. You look like hell. You haven't slept in a few days, and you just dropped a bomb on me." He lowered his voice slightly, awkward. "I wasn't sleeping either, okay? I could use some help."

"Help?" Bobby blinked at him.

"Just…stay here. Maybe if I know you're around it'll help. I know it sounds…"

"No, it doesn't." Bobby smiled faintly. "I know what you mean."

Darien echoed the smile hesitantly. "You want the bed or the couch?"

"You asking me honestly?"

"Yeah." 

"Good. You take the couch. Hurt the hell out of my back last time."

"You're lucky I'm a nice guy."

****

Where was it written that Darien Fawkes wasn't allowed to get more than two hours sleep at a time?

He jerked up on the couch, looking around the dimly lit apartment. He saw the sun starting to trail in from the outside, and groaned. He would never get back to sleep now, after dawn. 

Well, at least he had the day off. He could relax, even if he didn't get any sleep.

And then there was another noise, and he realized it must have been that that woke him up.

He turned to the bedroom, recognizing the sound. Bobby was having another nightmare. And now that Darien knew what the nightmares were about, a throb of guilt beat through him, driving him to his feet and over to the bedroom door.

He peeked his head in. "Bobby?" It was getting to be an all-too-familiar routine, waking him up from one of these nightmares. It was a wonder Hobbes got any sleep at all. 

"Bobby?" He moved to the side of the bed. Absently he reached out and touched Bobby's arm, keeping his voice low. "It's okay, man. I'm here, I'm okay."

Hobbes relaxed slightly, but his expression stayed pinched, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Darien looked down at him for a minute, and shrugged to himself. Hobbes may kill him for this later, but there was no doubt it would relax Darien, and hopefully Hobbes.

So he stopped fighting the urge, and slowly, carefully climbed into the bed next to his partner. He stayed on top of the covers, not wanting to get too invasive, but moved himself close to the tense form. An arm came up almost hesitantly and went around Bobby, pulling his partner closer.

Bobby relaxed almost instantly, obeying the slight tug and rolling into the warmth of the body beside him. He practically snuggled into Darien, murmuring something in his sleep that Darien wished he could have understood.

Darien lay there almost stiffly, just waiting for Hobbes to wake up and take a slice out of him. The feel of the body beside him, though, and the comfort it brought, soon made him relax and settle into the hold. Strange, but Darien would have thought being near death had made Hobbes' nearness more comforting. But here, while they were both safe, it seemed to have the same effect. He felt a warmth going through him, and his eyes slid shut as he felt sleep threatening to drift over him.

"Darien?" The voice was a whisper.

He tensed immediately, drawing back.

Bobby blinked up at him. "Déjà vu," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

Darien grinned weakly but couldn't reply, waiting for his partner to wake up enough to sock him in the jaw.

Bobby did wake up a little more, his eyes clearing and his gaze suddenly more lucid. "What are we doing?"

"Uh." Darien didn't want to move. He knew he should pull away, but he couldn't force his body to obey the command. 

There was a pause, and they just looked at each other, both uncertain and nervous.

Finally, Hobbes relaxed minutely, dropping his head back down on the pillow. "Fuck it," he said, bringing his arm up and encircling Darien in his grasp. "Feels good."

Surprised, Darien felt a burst of relief so strong it was almost tangible. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Bobby…"

Bobby angled his head to look up at him. 

From there, there was only the smallest of movements required to close the distance between them, to press his mouth down into Bobby's. 

The arm around his back grew tighter as Bobby leaned in to the kiss. Darien responded by slowly pressing his body closer to his partner, feeling the warmth spreading all the way through his body, hottest where they were touching.

The kiss was gentler than Darien would have imagined. The mouth pressed against his was warm, surprisingly soft, and the hand on his back moved slowly, almost petting him. A strange part of Darien felt disconnected from the whole experience. This couldn't be him lying here, and it sure couldn't be his partner returning his kiss so gently and easily. That's what one small part of his brain was telling him.

Fortunately, the rest of him easily ignored that small part. He could drown that doubt easily under the fact that whoever it was, this was one of the nicest, most tender moments he could remember sharing with someone in a long time.

He changed his angle slightly, shifting even closer, and lifted up for a breath of air. Two pairs of eyes locked on each other, then shut again after a brief second as they drew back in together. Darien couldn't help opening his lips and deepening the kiss, his tongue swirling out to run gently over the other man's lips. After the briefest second, those lips opened to him, and he probed inside a wet heat that made the soft tenderness of a moment ago fade away in a wave of sudden desire. 

He felt a flash of absolute heat go through him as a slick tongue came out to play with his, and his hands moved over the body beside him, pulling him closer. He groaned at the strange but incredibly arousing feel of a hard erection pressing into his leg, matching his own stiff condition. 

But the feel of that presence against his leg made a jolt of reality go through him. Were they actually going to do something? Was this going to happen?

He pulled back reluctantly. "Bobby…"

His partner's face was flushed slightly, his eyes still shut. A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Hmm?"

Darien studied him, shocked at how much that sight affected him. Jesus, Bobby looked happy. He looked content and…fucking amazing. Had he ever even suspected he would be lying next to this man, watching him looking like this?

After a moment of silence, Bobby's eyes opened questioningly. He caught on the serious expression on Darien's face, saw those eyes staring at him in disbelief.

All of the sudden, right in front of Darien's eyes, the vision in front of him melted away, replaced by a sudden sharp, bitter fear. 

"Oh, shit." Bobby jerked up, pulling away from Darien as fast as he could. "Holy…"

"Bobby--"

"Don't say anything." Bobby held up a hand for silence, his eyes wide and panicked. "Fuck, kid, I'm sorry. I didn't…" He stood up suddenly, turning and grabbing for the shirt and jacket he had left on the floor. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

Darien sat up, his brow furrowed. "You--"

"Just shut up for a minute!" 

Darien frowned, trying to interpret the tone of that voice. Bobby sounded shocked, and afraid, but there wasn't any kind of regret or macho indignation there. In fact, it almost sounded like Bobby was afraid of what Darien would say about what just happened. 

"Okay, I'll take off. We can act like this whole night never happened."

"Bobby--"

"Darien. Please." Hobbes turned to him, his expression absolutely open and vulnerable. "I wasn't lying to you before. If you leave, I got nothing left. Just forget I even came here, we can act like everything's normal, right?" 

Darien wanted to argue, but the fear in Bobby's voice was driving into him, making him need to reassure the man. "Yeah."

Bobby deflated in relief, but the look in his eyes, that scared, vulnerable look, didn't fade. "Just stay there. I know my way out. Christ, Darien, I'm sorry. I just…" He shook his head, and couldn't say anything else. Throwing his jacket on as he went, he was out the bedroom door a second later.

Darien just sat there, in shock, until the sound of the front door reached his ears.

He let out a silent curse and sat back against the bars of the headboard. What the hell had just happened there? The whole thing -- him getting into that bed, the kiss…

Holy shit. The kiss. He could still feel that kiss in his toes. But even more vivid was the fear on Bobby's face.

What a mess. As he sat there thinking about it, Darien reached a few startling conclusions. He was certain he wanted more. As bizarre as the entire situation was, he would give anything to have Bobby there again. Two, he was sure Bobby wanted more, but for some reason the other man was absolutely convinced it had been his fault, and a complete mistake. Even though Darien had been the one to start the kiss.

And three, he had absolutely no idea what to do about it next, besides going in to work tomorrow and reassuring Bobby by pretending the entire thing just didn't happen.


End file.
